


when you said your last goodbye

by coykoi



Series: Spideychelle Bingo [3]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergent, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, MJ is an artist, Michelle Jones Needs a Hug, Mutual Pining, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Slow Burn, based on all i want, is there plot or is it just Peter and MJ, nonlinear storytelling, there is fluff believe it or not, they trip into this thing called love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coykoi/pseuds/coykoi
Summary: Three weeks. It’s been three weeks since that day. He and Michelle haven’t talked since—haven’t even interacted—but now Peter’s here.Standing outside of their local homeless shelter, holding this drawing ofher, a girl whose smile is ingrained in his mind for no other reason than him simply liking it.And for the first time in a while, he experiences an honest pang of regret, a feeling that makes him wish he’d stayed a little bit longer that day.Just to call her MJ.or: five times peter says goodbye and the one time he says hello
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Spideychelle Bingo [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883020
Comments: 43
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All I Want by Kodaline is a beautiful but heartbreaking song, so of course I had to write a fic based on it. 
> 
> ♥️

_all i want is nothing more / to hear you knocking at my door_

**_ten hours after._ **

Their apartment is dark.

Early morning sun has just started infiltrating through the cracks of the windows, illuminating the floor, the walls, even bits of the ceiling, and yet, the lights are off and their apartment is dark.

Michelle lets the door close behind her, slamming with a bang louder than she’d intended, but she’s exhausted, aching in ways deeper than just the surface level, and she can’t bring herself to care.

It’s been ten hours—ten hours since. 

Maybe she should’ve given herself more time before coming home, before coming here into what was a shared space. Their shared space.

From the dirty dishes in the sink to the two pairs of shoes sitting by the door to the fridge covered in magnets and notes. It’s too worn, too used, too lived in for her to be back here in their apartment.

Her apartment.

Michelle runs her hands through her frizzy hair, fingers pulling harshly at the roots as she leans back against the door. All she can feel is exhaustion, a dull ache, and that’s what tells her that she hasn’t been hit with it yet.

There’s no pain when all she can comprehend is shock. Ten hours isn’t enough.

If this were really about her, Michelle would be wondering if this was the universe’s way of punishment. She’d be wondering if the ache she was feeling now could be cathartic enough for the universe to change its mind, take it all back.

But this isn’t about her. Maybe it never was.

Because they’ve gotten to a point where Michelle finds it hard to believe that every event she’s lived through wasn’t just another step towards this moment. 

It’s hard to wrap her head around everything, the idea of how temporary the past few years of her life ended up being.

And the only permanent thing she’s gotten out of it—possibly the worst of them all—is now she knows what the rawest, most unadulterated form of love feels like.

Just ten hours have passed, and all Michelle can think is that she’d do anything to go back. To stop this—stop all of it. Rewind to back before they’d met, and maybe there would at least be a happier ending.

It’s the shock talking.

Michelle knows that it’s the shock talking, devastatingly so, because all it takes is the sound of the metal doorknob twisting from behind her to cast an illusion. She turns around, quick enough to make herself dizzy, and opens the door.

“Peter?” she whispers first and foremost, chest heaving and vision starting to blur, but it’s the desperation of it all that makes her blind.

Maybe it’s because she’s so used to him being on the other side with no explanation, no reason at all. Just him, her, and nothing in between.

“Michelle,” comes the response, and when the clouds clear away and her hope has left, she can see May standing there with an expression Michelle thinks she’s seen before. All it would take is one look in the mirror.

And, oh.

There it is, the shock fading, and now Michelle’s grounded in reality.

There comes the pain.

  


* * *

  


**_nine years until._ **

Her name is Michelle.

Michelle Jones, but her friends call her MJ.

Peter knows that he doesn’t have the best memory—far from it. His brain runs in ten different directions most of the time, and yet, he remembers the day she’d become the team captain with startling clarity, almost as if it were tattooed on his heart without permission. 

The way she’d given a little smile after the admittance, the way she’d laughed shyly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—somehow, it’s all there. It felt like they were all let in on something special, something she doesn’t share with just anybody.

Of course, Peter didn’t think much of it at the time, him still trying to wrap his head around the events of Vulture days earlier. There was no room for Michelle’s words or her smile back then, his mind only making space for Tony. Avengers. Spider-Man.

So, the moment was left behind in the room to be forgotten.

But when Tony actually did put the offer on the table to officially join the team, Peter had no idea what to do. There was a second, a split-second where all he felt was excitement, his brain screaming _do it, do it, just say yes and regret the rest later_.

There was so much potential for Spider-Man to be bigger than just a neighborhood superhero if that’s what he wanted.

Except, no. Reality came crashing back down, and something shattered—the pedestal he had once kept the idea of doing this full-time.

Peter felt it like a dam breaking, memories rushing in of what it was like to be trapped under that parking garage. The weight was too much to bear on his shoulders, even then. 

So to become someone who has the responsibility of the _world_ on their shoulders? It’s impossible to comprehend, knowing he was far from ready for it—not when he couldn’t even bring himself to go back out as Spider-Man yet.

They wouldn’t be able to count on him.

The prospect of becoming something more dwindled down to a mere concept, an idea he’d reconsider in the far future, but for now, Peter was content just taking time for himself. He needed it.

A break would be a nice chance to grow, to heal, to just be a teenager.

So, he’d said, “Thank you, Mr. Stark, but I’m...I’m good.”

And he got to go home to his aunt that evening, just in time to see her fanning the fire alarm and tossing a burnt pan of pasta fazool. They’d ordered in some Thai instead, and May talked to him about her volunteer work, about the influx of kids coming to FEAST, about how they could always use more hands.

Peter was open to volunteering, always, but he knew that he’d have to start putting school first, his grades having suffered majorly in the past few months.

Meaning his schedule was about to be as mundane as ever.

School, home, rinse, repeat.

And it went accordingly, at least for a few weeks.

But Spider-Man always seemed to linger in the back of his mind, and while Peter was trying to focus on himself, he was starting to feel the guilt of not being out there. Starting to stress about a time limit—how long he could go before people started forgetting that there had been anyone looking out for the little guy in the first place. 

It poked and prodded at the sensitive part of his brain, leaving him wondering each time he looked out the window. What was he doing? What was he accomplishing without Spider-Man?

_Would he ever be ready to go out there again?_

Peter knows his uneasy mindset about the whole situation certainly wasn't pushing him to go back out any sooner. Motivation was lost at the moment, and he wasn’t sure how to get it back.

And to make matters worse—or potentially better—those lingering thoughts aren’t the only thing that has Peter off-kilter.

The only difference is, the other is a girl—the first girl he’s thought about in weeks that hasn’t been related to the incident with Toomes. She’s sitting outside of FEAST with a sketchbook in her lap and a pen between her teeth, inking away at whatever’s on the page.

And memories he didn’t realize he still had of that afternoon come rushing back, her smile, her laugh, and her words.

_“My friends call me MJ.”_

Yeah, Peter’s schedule is off now because he stands outside for who knows how long, just watching her from afar as she scribbles and scrawls and maybe even scratches out lines on the paper. It’s easy to lose track of time, the frosty wind blowing around but him remaining unmoved.

He notices the way her hair is constantly getting whipped back in her face, so much that she needs to pull it up in a ponytail. He notices the way she chews on the tip of her pen for a good five minutes with this look of disappointment on her face, etched with something sharp.

Peter watches as her expression crumples into one of frustration before the unassuming page in her sketchbook is ripped out. Balled up and tossed away.

Michelle doesn’t seem angry or upset, but there’s a wrinkle of emotion between her brow. She could be annoyed, maybe at herself, and it shows when she shoves off from the pavement and walks away from FEAST.

Her drawing is still lying on the ground, a potential victim to birds or snow or a nosy person who isn’t Peter.

And, well, he wouldn’t want anything else to get to it.

That…and he’s curious.

Peter walks closer to the building and crouches down for the paper. He almost goes to throw it away, almost respects Michelle’s privacy enough to not look at her drawing.

But then changes his mind on a whim, feeling like his selfish instincts were onto something here. And, well, they couldn’t be more right.

It’s a sketch.

A self-portrait.

The picture in itself is beautiful as a whole, truly, but it’s her smile that gets to him. 

The same smile from that afternoon that she’s drawn on herself, small and shaded and half-hidden behind a wall of curls, like it’s a secret meant for only a few people. 

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks since that day, and they haven’t talked since—haven’t even interacted—but now Peter’s here, standing right outside of their local homeless shelter with a drawing of this girl whose smile is ingrained in his mind for no other reason than him simply liking it.

And for the first time in a while, he experiences an honest pang of regret, a feeling that makes him wish he’d stayed a little bit longer that day.

Just to call her MJ.

  


* * *

  


Peter keeps the sketch.

There’s really no reason to, knowing that it being abandoned on the pavement must mean she doesn’t want it back, but he can’t bring himself to just throw it away. So, it lives in the top drawer of his nightstand and probably won’t see daylight again.

Carrying on with the rest of his week, Peter finds himself falling into a rhythm that almost feels normal. Stress and school on repeat, that’s normalcy for teenagers, right? But now he keeps an eye out, too.

Not for her, specifically. That would be ridiculous. And creepy.

Just an eye out in general.

And, well, if that eye drifts in Michelle’s general direction, it’s really not _his_ fault. 

Because _she’s_ the one who’s changing up the colored streak in her hair weekly, going through every hue on the spectrum. She’s the one who carries a different backpack on Fridays that only contain classic novels, and she’s the one who sometimes wears mismatched Converse. Red and navy.

Except, when he brings up his casual observations with Ned one day when they’re eating lunch, they don’t take it the same way.

“You’re obsessed with her,” Ned tells him, and Peter either chokes on panic or his pasta salad.

“What? No, Ned, I—I am not obsessed with her,” he hisses under his breath after a coughing fit, yet still finds himself sneaking a look over at Michelle. She doesn’t even glance up from her book, chewing on the tip of a green highlighter. “I’m just...observing. By accident.”

“By accident.” His best friend gives him the most deadpan expression Peter’s ever seen. “By _accident_? Dude, you...how...?”

It’s easier to lie to Ned, harder to lie to himself.

“I’m here. And Michelle’s there. We both exist, so of course I’m going to... _notice_ her. That’s, like, how the world works.”

“My dude. Peter. You’re not just noticing her. You’re noticing the little things about her. Kind of like what you used to do with...you know who? But a lot more creepy, honestly—”

Scratch that. It’s hard to lie to Ned, too. 

“I don’t like her like that,” Peter blurts out, rushed and almost nervous. He might be interested, intrigued, but he doesn't know enough about her for anything more. That’s his excuse. “This isn’t—this isn’t like how it was with Liz. Me and Michelle don’t even talk.”

“You and Liz didn’t talk.”

“That...is not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Ned asks, squinting hard.

Peter exhales, a shaky thing, because maybe that is the point. He doesn’t want this to be like what he had—or didn’t have—with Liz. Because if it starts the same way, who’s to say it won’t end the same way too? 

“My point is...I’m not obsessed with Michelle like you said. That we’re not even friends, actually,” Peter continues quietly. “And I definitely don’t like her in that way...”

Ned stares at him, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in his head, before seemingly giving up. “Okay. Yeah, I was just making sure, because I didn’t think MJ liked you either.”

Peter isn’t sure if it’s his ego or his feelings that take the brunt force of his statement, but as soon as that information sinks in, there’s confusion settling in his stomach. 

“Wait, what? Are—are you being serious?”

“Maybe I’m reading her wrong? But I don’t think so. It’s just...a head’s up, man,” Ned says, honesty in his words, and all Peter can do is fall silent.

Michelle and Ned are friends. 

Meaning he would know.

And Peter and Michelle, well. They’re not friends, they never talk, they barely even look at each other. Of course, there’s no reason for her to like him, but is it an aversion or simply an indifference that she feels?

Why does he care?

No. Peter decides right then that doesn’t care.

It’s just a bruised ego, that’s all, because there’s absolutely no reason for him to care about what she thinks. He might look at Michelle, might notice the little details, might even hope to see that smile of hers at times.

But what does it matter when she isn’t even looking back.

  


* * *

  


**_eleven hours after._ **

“Michelle...this doesn’t have to be done right now,” May tells her with a voice shaky enough to match the tremor of her hands. “It’s okay if you give yourself time—”

“I don’t—I don’t have the time, May,” Michelle responds, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “I’m the one who has to live here. I’m the one who has to see his shoes, his clothes, the stupid...the stupid notes that he would always leave on the fridge.”

Michelle rips one off the door, her eyes scanning the sloppy scrawl before crumpling up the note in her palm, the paper too damp now to hold ink. 

And as soon as she drops the paper, she sees the way his words have bled onto her skin, smudged but distinguishable. Too distinguishable.

_‘I know you’re right next to me but I’m writing this down so you never forget._

_I’ve missed you and I love you. Thank you for coming home last night._

_Peter x’_

Michelle inhales sharply and it’s at that moment she decides with utmost certainty that his presence can’t be in this apartment anymore. It all has to go, because what he’d written in the note is the only thing she wants to do right now.

Forget.

  


* * *

  


**_nine years until._ **

People are starting to notice Spider-Man’s absence, really notice, and rumors are spreading through the tabloids like wildfire—rumors that he’s moved on, that he’s quit, that he’s dead.

Some of them are not so nice, and Peter can’t bring himself to look at another news article without having the urge to talk about it. There’s so much pressure for him to get back out there and prove that Spider-Man didn’t just give up.

But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? 

Because as of right now, what has he done other than give up?

Peter would talk to Tony if they were close enough, would probably talk to May if she knew the truth in the first place. But he can’t talk to either of them and certainly isn’t going to drop all of his worries onto Ned.

So, he keeps it bottled up and takes an even further step back, shutting away anything and everything that has to do with Spider-Man. Blocked on the media, blocked in his mind. It’s all he’s got.

What Peter needs is a distraction, and he thought decathlon would be that for him, but then Harrington comes up to him one afternoon, says that his grades still aren’t the best right now, that he’d slacked off far too much in the first semester.

Basically tells him in the nicest way possible that if he doesn’t get his shit together, he’s going to be kicked off the team.

“I thought that was up to the captain.”

“It is,” Harrington says sympathetically, nodding his head towards the table where the rest of them are sitting. Where she’s sitting.

Peter can feel his heart burn with some unidentified emotion, but he knows it has to be akin with anger. 

The table’s conversation pauses, probably because he’s watching them and they noticed—Michelle glancing away from Ned, the laugh dying on her lips as her eyes lock onto his. It startles both of them, but her more so.

Peter doesn’t want to be the first to look away, the frustration that’s been building up over weeks at a time getting the better of him. 

And, well, she makes it easy, letting a strand of hair fall back into her eyes, hiding them from him and ducking her head.

“Michelle.”

_Not MJ._

“What’s up, Parker?” she asks, and it’s so simple, those three words, but they ignite something in him.

“You want to kick me off the team?” Peter says, wondering if he sounds as agitated as he feels. It doesn’t help that her expression doesn’t change, like she isn’t affected by his terse voice.

“I don’t _want_ to kick you off,” Michelle tells him, straightforward, and yet he has a hard time wrapping his head around that. “And I’m not going to kick you off if you just...put in a little more effort this time.”

Peter can’t help but scoff slightly, his tone coming out sarcastic as he says, “A little more?”

“Yeah, Peter. A little more,” she says, eyes narrowed. There it is. “I could count the number of meetings you came to last semester on one hand. If you want to stay on the team, there’s not going to be a repeat of that.”

Against his fighting instincts, Peter doesn’t argue, knowing that she’s right, that he needs to try harder or else there’s no point in being on the team at all. But his grades are terrible despite his constant studying, his mind too all over the place as of late, and nothing is working out.

There’s too much and yet not enough going on all at once.

“Okay,” he eventually says, his tone softening out of guilt at aiming his anger at her just because she was an easy target. “I, uh, I’m trying to get my grades up. I swear that I am, but it’s just…”

“Maybe MJ could help tutor you,” Ned suggests out of nowhere, and they both turn to him with different expressions.

Michelle with a warning look, Peter with a perplexed one.

“Whatever you guys want to do to have everyone on the same page, I’m all for it,” Harrington adds with a slight shrug. 

“Do you...want me to tutor you?” Michelle asks, voice quieter than before as she looks at him, and he already knows his answer.

No.

If she already doesn’t like him now, there’s no way they would get along for hours working on something as tedious as American literature. That’s the last thing she’d want to be doing, the last thing he’d want to be doing.

But then Ned gives him this persuasive look with his eyes that reads _‘say yes, you dumbass’_ and Peter figures that doing this would be for the well-being of the team and his grades.

So, he finds himself nodding robotically, mumbling, “Sure.”

“We’ll figure out the details later,” Michelle says and then does a move that Peter doesn’t expect—hasn’t expected at all in the last few weeks. She smiles at him, a small, shy thing. 

Somehow, he doesn’t comprehend it at that moment, finding himself returning the smile with the same sort of timidity. The magnitude of it doesn’t hit him until later that night when he’s lying in bed and thinking about her.

At that point, it’s too late to back out.

Peter knows he’s fucked.

  


* * *

  


“I still can’t believe you’re making me do this when you know she doesn’t like me,” Peter tells Ned when they’re at lunch later that week, chewing around the Hershey kiss of a peanut butter cookie.

“That’s exactly why I think it’s a good idea. You two should become friends. She’s honestly easy to get along with if you try,” Ned responds.

“If she were easy to get along with, we would already be friends.”

“Excuse you.” Ned squints at him hard. “Maybe _you’re_ the one who’s hard to get along with, dude. Look at her. She’s so...chill.”

They both swivel simultaneously toward Michelle’s end of the table, and she has her head ducked into another book, one that Peter knows she keeps in her bag of classics. 

Michelle has these ticks, he notices, as she reads. Her nose scrunches up when she’s on the same page for longer than usual, her fingers always twiddle with the book jacket if it’s not already removed, and sometimes, she mouths the words like they’re already memorized in the back of her brain.

“She’s coming over later today for our first study session,” Peter says, folding his arms on the table and resting his head atop them. If he happens to still be staring at her, that’s no one’s business. Not even his own.

“Maybe tone down the heart eyes a little bit.”

“Ned, I’m _not_ —I’m just looking—”

“Are you guys talking about me?” Michelle asks without even glancing up from her book, taking a casual sip of some water.

“Obviously.”

“Not. Obviously...not,” Peter tries, but then she looks up from her book with this amused half-smile as if she already knows, and his train of thought goes out the window. “I, uh...I’m...did you—?”

“Peter wanted to know if you’d like to walk with him after school to his apartment,” Ned supplies, which was _not_ what he was gonna say. “For, y’know. The study session.”

Michelle raises a brow in Peter’s direction. “Is that what you were going to ask?”

And he can’t very well say no without sounding like some type of asshole about it, which is why he replies with, “Yeah. Yep. Just...a suggestion. One that you can ignore if you—”

“Either way,” Michelle interrupts, a slight frown tugging her smile away before she goes back to her book.

Peter doesn’t deflate. He’s not even a little disappointed, because this awkwardness means he’ll be able to keep her at arm's length if feelings were to come into play. Not that they would since, you know, he doesn’t like her like that.

But...maybe if he needs a reminder in the future.

“Yeah. Yeah, you really are the unlikeable one, aren’t you?” Ned comments off to the side with a snort.

Except, in the end, it doesn’t even matter because Peter’s last class is right across the hall from hers and they find each other anyway. He greets her with a smile, reflexive, and they walk out of school together, all bundled up because it’s winter and freezing.

They’re quiet for most of the way, but Peter finds himself glancing at her more often than not. She keeps her head down, her cheeks red from the cold, and there are snowflakes starting to melt in her hair.

It’s a sight.

 _She’s_ a sight.

Peter bites the inside of his cheek, willing himself to not look at her again until they reach the apartment because if he doesn’t, he’ll surely say something idiotic. Probably bumble out a compliment, try to take it back, and then it won’t just be silence but _awkward_ silence.

But, much to his surprise, Michelle speaks up first, throwing him off by saying, “I see your aunt sometimes.”

“You...what? You see May?”

“Sometimes,” she repeats, shrugging. “At FEAST. She’s a volunteer there, right?”

“She is,” Peter says, feeling his lips curl up slightly, recalling the time he saw Michelle outside of the shelter. “Does that mean you’re a volunteer, too?”

“You could say that. I’ve gotten to know the people there on my free days. They’re very nice. Warm. Kind of like family, y’know?” There’s a wistful look in her eyes but that disappears the moment they reach the apartment.

“May! We’re home,” he calls out after opening the door, wincing slightly at how that sounds. “I mean...I, uh, I brought—”

“MJ?” May barrels through the kitchen doorway, beaming, and her arms wrap around his guest in a familiar hug. 

“—Michelle,” Peter finishes awkwardly.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you, honey. I had no idea that it was you who would be helping Peter out,” May continues, looking between the two of them while still holding Michelle’s arms. “Of course, he never tells me anything.”

Peter feels his cheeks heat up but when he glances at Michelle, it seems that they’re both equally sheepish. She meets his eyes and a moment passes before a quiet snort escapes her lips. It almost sounds fond.

But either way, with how well May and Michelle seem to get along, Peter thinks that this study session might not be so bad.

Because after all, anyone who has the approval of his aunt must be pretty special.

  


* * *

  


“Be real with me, Peter. Do you personally think you need these tutoring sessions?” Michelle looks at him from behind her thin-framed glasses, squinting only slightly, but it sounds like an honest question.

And Peter can admit that it’s a fair one. They’ve had four study sessions so far over the span of two weeks, and he’s been grasping the material rather easily after applying himself a bit more.

Peter knows he’s smart. He may be an idiot at times, but he’s not dumb. Over the past few weeks, it’s just been easier to do schoolwork, and maybe that’s because the distractions in his head aren’t lingering in the forefront.

Or maybe it’s because Michelle makes it easier to focus on what he’s supposed to be doing. She’s easy to listen to, and any thoughts about Spider-Man are the farthest from his mind.

“What do you think?”

Michelle rolls her eyes, a slight smile to her lips. It’s something else he’s noticed—the fact that she’s started smiling at him more.

Not that it’s a big deal to him or anything.

They’ve just been bonding a little and maybe that fact just makes his heart flutter...if slaving over their American literature together even counts as bonding.

But even if feelings did happen to start sprouting up for Michelle in a not-so-platonic way, Peter would never admit it out loud and ruin something easy. He isn’t going to let this turn into a story that won’t have a happy ending.

“I think that if you wouldn't slack off, you’d actually manage to bring your grades up by yourself,” Michelle tells him, blunt and to the point. “You don’t need me to help you, Parker.”

“But you _are_ helping, though. Maybe not in the way you think, but you’re forcing me to focus,” he says, and she squints harder.

And it hits Peter in that moment that this could be her way of asking for a way out of tutoring him. Ned might’ve been right all along. Maybe she really doesn’t like him, doesn’t want to waste any more time than she has to.

The smiles could be a ploy, but it hurts to think so.

“As long as my presence has some lasting impact on you,” she replies with a snort. “Because we need you on the team. Believe it or not, Flash is much more of an asset when he’s an alternate.”

“Is that...the only reason you’ve agreed to do this?” Peter asks, only half-joking. “Because Flash is more unlikeable to you than I am?”

“Yes, Peter. That’s exactly it,” Michelle says, and her tone is utterly dry.

He’s so confused.

“If you don’t want to be here, I could try finding someone else—”

“Of course I want the team to succeed,” she interrupts with a short exhale and a quiet voice. “But I’m also here because I do actually want to help you. Sue me, Parker.”

“That’s nice of you,” Peter says, swallowing, and she looks up, meets his eyes. “I just—I wasn’t sure since Ned, uh...he told me that you don’t really like me. I thought maybe you were doing this because you had to, which...you don’t.”

“Leeds told you that I didn’t like you?” she asks, and her smile expands like the rising sun. He can’t keep up. 

“Is he right?”

“I like you just fine, Peter.” Her gaze casts downward. “But the fact that Ned can’t read a person for shit is hilarious.”

“Yeah, it is,” he agrees, silently wishing he could know what she was thinking for once. “Thanks for the clarification.”

Michelle tucks a pencil behind her ear, one of the graphite ones she uses to sketch, and asks, “Why? Was that a question that’s kept you up at night?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Peter says while on the precipice between yes and no. They both look away at the same time.

  


* * *

  


  
Confrontation was inevitable.

Peter should’ve expected it sooner, but he wasn’t surprised when Tony had called him one afternoon, providing nothing short of a gentle prodding for information on why he hasn’t been out patrolling lately.

And, of course, for as unprepared as he was to answer, Peter managed to slip by with a brief excuse about how he was bogged down with schoolwork and didn’t have enough time to go out. Stark called it a responsible move.

Peter called it a dirty one. Because, well, that was only half the truth.

A familiar feeling of guilt lingered with him for the remainder of the day—one that he expected would only get worse when a call from his best friend came in.

Ned was the one to find out they’re starting to sell Spider-Man memorabilia in the neighboring bodegas and had wanted to let Peter know.

It should be exciting, the idea of getting a bobblehead of himself to stick on the dashboard.

“I already got one,” Ned says with a chuckle to himself and sends a grainy picture. “Pretty cool, I think. They’ve got some art, too. Like, these really awesome posters? They’re hand drawn by local artists around Queens, and it’s all worth checking out.”

What Peter wanted to say was, _‘yeah, man, I’d love to see it’_ , but what he ended up saying was, “People are still...supporting Spider-Man?”

Because it’s shocking, especially to himself.

“Have you expected them not to?”

And, yeah. That’s exactly what Peter had expected. He hasn’t gone out two months and counting, and he assumed everyone had believed the tabloids that claimed he’d quit. Given up on the city.

The last thing Peter wants is for people to forget that there’s always someone looking out for them, even if Spider-Man isn’t doing it publicly, but trending news comes and goes.

So the fact that not everyone has forgotten him yet throws him, and he doesn’t know what to say.

“Honestly...a little.”

“Listen, Peter,” Ned begins, sounding slightly concerned. “Maybe you think I haven’t noticed. Or maybe you think that I’m just ignoring what’s been going on around me...but I’m not. It’s obvious what’s going on.” 

“I mean, what, obvious due to the lack of Spider-Man?” Peter asks with a humorless laugh, hearing the similarities between this conversation and the one he’d just had with Tony. 

But then Ned snorts, saying, “It’s obvious because _you’re_ my best friend, Pete. Spider-Man’s not part of the equation here. You think I wouldn’t notice that you’ve seemed more stressed out lately? Or that you’re manifesting a guilt complex the size of Mt. Washington?”

“And here I thought I was good at keeping my secrets,” he replies, his tone slightly dry. 

“You _know_ you’re terrible.” Ned’s voice softens then. “But what’s worse is that you didn’t think you could talk to me about it? I know I’ve never brought this up, but the last thing I wanted was for it to seem like I was pushing you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t...say anything. I just didn’t want to burden you, that’s all. You’re supposed to have the fun part of the job. Guy in the Chair and all.”

“No, dude, we’re past that. If you can tell me with no shame that in eighth grade, you and Gwen Stacy did some hot ‘n heavy making out in the ladies’ room, then you literally can tell me anything. Nothing will ever be as bad as hearing the details of that.”

“One, I thought we agreed to never bring that up again. And two…thanks, man. I just...haven’t had the motivation to go out, I guess. It doesn’t feel right, but…”

“You can’t force yourself. You shouldn’t even have to. If you want to take a year long break, then you fucking take that year long break.”

“Well, I’m glad to have at least one person on my side,” Peter says, half-smiling.

“You won’t hear me blowing up your ego by saying there’s a lot more than just one,” Ned jokes. “But I’m implying it.”

Peter feels his heart warm, and while that wasn’t encouragement to get back out there on his feet, the reassurance from his best friend was something he needed to hear. That even if he wasn’t doing the right thing for the well-being of the city, he was trying to do the right thing for himself.

“Appreciate that, Ned.” He husks out a quiet laugh, gratitude that he had someone like Ned in his life rolling off him in waves. “Honestly, love you, man.”

“Love you, too, bro. Always got your back.” There’s a brief pause before Ned continues. “And speaking of having your back...guess what we’re doing this weekend with a certain someone.”

“Tell me that that certain someone isn’t—”

“MJ? Consider this me wingmanning for you, honestly. Star Wars marathon, dude. She says she’s never seen one before because they’re supposedly cinematic space trash. Care to prove her wrong with me?”

“Please, Ned. You act like I could ever tell Michelle she’s wrong.”

  


* * *

  


**_twelve hours after._ **

“This doesn’t feel real, does it?”

Ned’s statement sounds like an honest question, and he’s asking her for an answer that she can’t provide. He wants her to tell him that no, this doesn’t feel real—that there’s no way this could’ve happened.

But Michelle can admit to herself that she’d always expected it would end this way. Not this soon, not this brutally, but it was bound to happen.

“May offered that I come stay with her for the time being,” Michelle says instead, eyes downcast, fingers fiddling with the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “She doesn’t want me to be alone here.”

“Will you?”

Michelle swallows thickly, vision fogging up as her thumb rubs against her ring finger, just recently bare. The weight of what had previously taken up that space was too much right now.

“I don’t want her to be alone either. I don’t want you to be alone. I just...I think that _I_ need to be alone. Somewhere else, maybe. I don’t know yet.”

Her home had always been a person, never just a place, and now that he’s gone, she doesn’t know where to go.

  


* * *

  


**_nine years until._ **

It was supposed to be a one-time thing.

That’s what Peter had told himself before their night had even begun—himself, Michelle, and Ned all huddled in his room later that evening, crammed on his bed, sharing the damn thing because it’s the only form of seating he’s got.

Peter had spent half of the night paying attention to the movie and the other half listening to the valid critiques Michelle had muttered under her breath that weren’t even for him to hear. 

Everything had been uneventful for the most part, Ned falling asleep by the credits of the second movie, leaving Peter in an awkward silence with Michelle, who was clearly getting bored.

It got to the point where Peter was desperate to fill the quiet, awkward tension with something. Anything. 

Which is why he brought up her art.

It started as an offhand comment, something about how he’d noticed her sketching from time to time.

Michelle seemed surprised by the acknowledgement but then a smile cracked across her face, and she started talking. Really talking, and it was different than anything he’d seen before. Because, finally, this was a topic that she loved.

Peter wished he knew beforehand that all it took to have a real conversation with Michelle was bringing up one of his _many_ observations that he had of her.

Honest to god, he knows he would’ve let her go on for hours, would’ve let her talk about something as simple as the brand of pencil she uses if it meant that sparkle would remain in her eyes.

Maybe that was a sign that Peter’s starting to fall down a rabbit hole of feelings, but looking back now, he was blind to it. 

Or, maybe he wasn’t.

Because that seemed to be the turning point.

Peter starts inviting Michelle to weekly movie nights, something that hadn’t existed before she’d come along, but neither he nor Ned are complaining. His feelings of excitement are genuine, truly, these evenings being what he looks forward to most by the end of the week.

It’s getting easier, their dynamic, he thinks. They’re almost friends, right on the borderline, as she’s opening up with him more now.

Only onward and upward from there.

Except, the more time he spends with Michelle, the more he starts to slip up, his thoughts drifting farther away from just friendship. That’s not what was supposed to happen, but there’s an allure to her that his feelings just can’t seem to resist.

It hasn’t cost him anything.

Not until now.

“Hey, Parker, you still have that flash drive I lent you? The one you were supposed to use to study?” Michelle asks one evening, Ned already snoring on the bed next to her ear.

“I did use it to study, thank you very much,” Peter retorts with an easy laugh, his attention only half-focused on the television, on the movie. “Top drawer in my nightstand, I think?”

Michelle nods and opens the drawer, he can hear that, but he can’t hear anything else. It goes silent, eerily so, despite the movie still playing on the screen in front of them.

And it’s that moment when Peter remembers—remembers that he hadn’t put the flash drive in that drawer but something else. Not that her sketch belongs to him either, but now she’s seen that he has it. He’s kept it.

“Peter,” she mutters, quiet, and he can’t read her tone. “Why do you have this?”

“I found it,” Peter admits, wetting his cracked lips as he turns to look at her. She’s looking at him, her expression too blank. “You just...you threw it away, and I didn’t—I didn’t think it was worth throwing away. It’s good.”

“So you kept it,” Michelle says, and there’s nothing familiar about her at that moment. She’s not angry, but it’s not the same as it was five minutes ago.

“I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to see,” he tells her, swallowing, and her eyes soften before darting away from his. “You can have it back if—”

“I don’t want it. I just—I...don’t. You keep it.” Her words are uncertain, and maybe her expression is too. “I, uh...I have to go.”

But it’s the finality of the door shutting behind her as she leaves that wakes Peter, snapping him into the reality of her being there and suddenly being gone.

Ned stirs at that moment, his snoring ceasing as he sits up, blinking blearily. “Hmm? What’s going on? Where’d MJ go?”

Peter finds himself sitting back on his bed, staring at the paper in his hands with regret. He wonders if he should throw it away now.

“She left.”

  


* * *

  


Maybe keeping the sketch wasn’t worth it, a mere piece of paper possibly costing him a friendship with Michelle.

Peter understands where she’s coming from, that artists make art in ways that are personal to them—that this sketch must have been personal to her, and he just took it without a second thought.

It’s taken him nearly the whole night to accept those facts, him waking up at six a.m. on a Saturday because lying in bed for much longer with just his mind on a constant loop of the previous night isn’t what he wants to do.

With May still asleep, the kitchen is dark, and he’s barely awake enough to make himself a cup of coffee.

In fact, he starts dozing at the kitchen table, despite having the coffee in his hands, which seems to be doing nothing for his alertness. 

That’s only further proven when there’s a knock, two taps against the apartment door, and Peter barely hears it—him only noticing when five more consecutive knocks sound against the wood, softening after each, like they’re on the verge of fading.

Peter doesn’t know what brought him to do it, but he stood up and gripped the knob in his palm. There was a chance that she wouldn’t be there, that he was putting too much hope into this, but honestly...

He would do anything to see her on the other side of the door.

And she is.

“Michelle,” he exhales, trying to contain his blatant relief that she’s there despite having no idea why. “It’s...six a.m.”

“And yet, you’re awake,” she responds with a barely-there smile, clenching a roll of paper between her palms. “Sorry. I know I could’ve waited, but I was afraid I’d change my mind later.”

“Do you want to come in?” Peter asks, and she presses her lips together, nodding. They step inside, gravitating back towards the kitchen. 

“I didn’t mean to run last night,” Michelle eventually admits after staring at the worn kitchen table for a few minutes. “It was just...the idea of you having that self-portrait...I was a little embarrassed if I’m being honest.”

“What? No, you don’t have to be embarrassed. It was so beautiful, Michelle,” he insists, and maybe him calling her self-portrait beautiful was intentional. “I know I shouldn’t have taken it without letting you know, but I really only kept it because...you drew it.”

Michelle breathes out a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she says, “Thanks. I meant it when I said you can keep it. I’m past embarrassment and stuck in acceptance now.”

“Cool, cool,” Peter says, rocking on his heels with a dumb smile on his face. “Is that, uh...is that why you came over?”

“Basically.” Though, she hesitates before placing a roll of paper on the dining table. “But I also have this piece that I kind of want your opinion on. Sometimes my sketches get away from me and turn into...well.”

Peter chews the inside of his cheek in anticipation, wondering what piece of art she would want to trust his opinion with, but then she unrolls the paper and he suddenly can’t breathe.

“You...you drew this,” he whispers, his eyes tracing along the sharp lines and neon oil pastels laid against the paper into a familiar form. 

“Spider-Man has always been an artistic inspiration of mine,” Michelle says, glancing at him. “And he’s done so much for the city. I thought I’d make him something in return.”

“This is...incredible. I really—I don’t know what else to say.” He swallows, feeling his heart thrum in his ears, because what an honor. “And you wanted...my opinion on this?”

“Of course. I trust you.” Michelle meets his eyes, and there’s something knowing in her expression. “As long as he likes it, I’ll be happy.”

“I think he’ll love it.”

Michelle smiles, an easy thing, and says, “Would you let me know when you see him around next? I’d like to give it to him in person.”

“Ah, he...he’s been gone for awhile, and I don’t know when he’ll be back,” Peter admits, looking down. “Or if.”

“Well. Spider-Man can take as much time as he needs,” she says, starting to roll the picture back up. “Because no one is going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice cracking just a bit with emotion. “Will I see you around?”

“Only if you want to.”

Peter manages a small laugh, nodding as he says, “I’d like to, yeah.” And then he takes a risk, a big step forward in the figurative and literal sense, tentatively wrapping his arms around Michelle in a hug. Their first. “I’ll see you then, Michelle.”

“My friends call me MJ, Peter,” Michelle reminds him as she pulls back, and he smiles, feeling his heart skip a beat while she steps into the hallway. As much as this is a goodbye, it feels like a hello. Like the beginning of something.

“Goodbye, MJ.”

  


* * *

  


**_thirteen hours after._ **

The fridge is bare.

Michelle holds the box of notes in her arms and carries them to the bedroom, stopping short at the doorway. She hasn’t stepped foot inside since they’d left together, and it hurts differently entering now.

But she takes a deep breath, knowing what her goal is, and kneels onto the floor, right next to the bed on his side.

Sliding a box out from under the bed, Michelle’s breath hitches as she’s reminded of the contents. She drops the notes inside, them fluttering down and landing atop the faded pastel.

It’s been years since she’s drawn Spider-Man.

Michelle had never regretted making him this piece, not until now when the only thing it serves as is a reminder that life is a temporary thing.

And that love is everything but.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♥️

_‘cause if i could see your face once more / i could die a happy man, i’m sure_

**_two days after_ **

Her hands can’t hold steady.

Michelle drops the pair of tweezers and glue on the desk, and they land with a resounding clatter. She chews the inside of her cheek, trying to blink around tears of frustration, but she’s been at this for nearly two hours now. 

Running a hand through her knotted hair, Michelle pushes back from the desk and turns around in their bedroom, it becoming more and more bare as the days go by. His things, they’re accumulating in boxes, and she’s debating on whether to keep them or not.

Of course, Michelle can’t bring herself to touch certain items—his suit, his camera, the photographs of them that are lying face-down on the dresser. She hates the reminder of how fresh some of them still are, barely days old.

Michelle releases a shaky breath, her throat feeling tight as she looks back at the desk. Two hours she’s been working, and it’s nowhere close to being ready for tomorrow.

 _Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow._

It’s a hard pill to swallow, knowing she has to say goodbye, but she can’t imagine not going. Can’t imagine not seeing his face one last time.

Sitting back down on the stool, Michelle wipes the stray tear from her cheek, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she picks up the tweezers again.

The black dahlia is a symbol of commitment, an eternal bond between two people, but it can also portray betrayal, sadness.

Michelle wishes she wasn’t so well-versed with the meaning of the flower, but it’s hard not to be, the chain of the necklace dangling from the tips of her fingers. The weight is heavy despite half of the petals having broken off.

When Peter had first given it to her, his smile earnest and eyes hopeful, she’d told him she liked it better broken. His expression was something she could never forget, still can’t get it out of her mind even now.

But now, when Peter’s gone and she’s still here, Michelle knows she has to try. She can’t fix everything, certainly can’t fix what she wants to the most right now, but she can fix this.

The necklace isn’t staying with her. It’s going with him.

And while Michelle likes it better broken, will always like it better broken, she knows Peter deserves better than that.

He deserves better than broken.

  
  


* * *

  


**_eight and a half years until_ **

“It’s perfect.”

“You think so?” Michelle asks, glancing at him with a small smile and a breath of laughter, as if she thinks he could possibly be joking. “I don’t know, Peter. Your definition of perfect differs from mine.”

Peter shakes his head, full of certainty that what he sees in front of him, what’s drawn on this piece of paper, it’s perfect. A universal definition.

“No, it...it’s amazing. She’ll love it, MJ,” he tells Michelle honestly, and something in her expression loosens up, understandably so. He knows that she wants to give May the best for her birthday and won’t settle for anything less. “I promise.”

Michelle looks at him for a moment, her stare lingering, but then she nods slowly and says, “Okay. I believe you.”

“Good. It’s a little too late to change your mind, anyway,” Peter responds with a quiet laugh, nodding towards the elevator. He’d come down to bring her up to their apartment, despite it being completely unnecessary, and it could be chalked up to him trying to be a gentleman.

But Peter is past the point of excuses now. He knows how he feels—as well as any teenager would, at least—and he’s accepted it. Stopped trying to compare it to something that had failed in his past.

Michelle isn’t his past. She may not be his future either, but right now, she’s his present. He doesn’t want to waste his time, whatever it may turn into, by dwelling on things he can’t change.

The ride up in the elevator is uneventful, but their silence is a comfortable thing rather than awkward. He’s had enough awkwardness for years to come, memories of the beginnings of the friendship still fresh in his mind as if they’d happened just yesterday.

But he likes to think that they’ve come far.

Not far enough to tell her the truth about certain things, but Peter’s working up to that. He knows he can trust her and that she trusts him.

It’s just that there’s so much he wants to tell her, so much of his heart he wants to share, and there’s not enough time in the world to do it all at the pace he’s going. But he’s going to try. Eventually.

“Thank you for the escort,” she says to him with a half-smirk as they reach his door, and he grins, feeling his heart skip a beat. Just a typical Sunday afternoon.

May opens the door just then, a smile stretching across her face upon seeing them, and she says, “Michelle! Always a delight to find you at my door.”

“You know I just couldn’t pass up your birthday, May. It’s gotta be celebrated,” Michelle responds lightheartedly, following her back into the apartment, and Peter kicks the door closed behind them. 

“We’re having pasta fazool for dinner, my specialty,” May says, rubbing her hands together. 

Peter can’t help but smile, and it’s because of the fact that she loves to cook despite being terrible at it. He would’ve made dinner, had even offered to try one of May’s older family recipes for the special occasion, but she’d asked if she could do it. And, well, if that means eating burnt pasta and beans, then so be it.

“Hey, I, um. I made you something for your birthday,” Michelle speaks up, and she sounds nervous about it. “It’s not much, but I know how family oriented you are. And I know how much you love volunteering.”

Michelle practically throws the paper she’d had in her hands at May, and she seems so nervous that it’s almost comical, but Peter thinks he understands. He almost places a hand on her shoulder in reassurance but settles for a light touch to her elbow instead.

“Goodness, MJ.” May brings a hand to her mouth, and her eyes shine. He knows what she’s seeing, the drawn perspective of someone with a camera who’s taking a photo of the found family they’ve made at FEAST.

Peter’s in the front with May, having finally started volunteering with them, and they’re surrounded by everyone in the shelter. From the cooks to the men who always play chess in the corner to the older woman who occasionally strums her violin. It’s all smiles, something that’s rare.

And Michelle was able to capture the snapshot. Always the one behind the camera, the one behind the art—not in the view but replicating it perfectly.

“It’s nothing, I was just playing around with values and shades, really,” she begins to say but never gets to finish, already being wrapped in his aunt’s tight embrace.

“Michelle, please. It’s perfect. I am so grateful for this and for you.”

Peter smiles at the way Michelle’s expression relaxes, and he places a palm between her shoulder blades, leaning closer to murmur, “What did I tell you. Nothing to be worried about.”

Michelle rolls her eyes lightheartedly and as she keeps holding onto May, Peter wishes he were the one with the camera for once. This is a memory he wants to keep for a long time.

The way she so easily fits into their family.

  
  


* * *

  


“May, come on, it’s your birthday. I can clean up—”

“Hey, now. This is still my kitchen,” she warns, a teasing spark in her eyes. “We can share the workload. Besides, the sooner we get this done, the sooner you can go back to our company.”

Peter can feel his cheeks warm as he casts a glance through the doorway, toward the living room where Michelle is lounging on the couch. He’d insisted for her to relax. They didn’t need a third set of hands to clean, but more importantly, he didn’t need to be brushing elbows with her every time a dish needed soap.

“Yeah. You’re right,” he mumbles, a smile sneaking onto his lips despite his best efforts in trying to prevent it.

“Ah. There’s that look again.”

“What look?” Peter asks, ducking his head as if he can hide from his aunt that way. She merely tsks, tossing him a dish towel. “I dunno what you’re talking about, May.”

“Don’t play coy with me, mister. I wasn’t born yesterday,” May snorts, handing off the clean plates for him to start drying. “Even if you hadn’t already told me how you feel about MJ, I’d say you make it pretty obvious, Pete. I’ve seen that look before.”

“I don’t...have a look,” he complains, and yet, he knows he does. A constant thing throughout the last half of the year, like a smile he can’t erase. “This is just my face.”

“Well, then there’s something about your face,” she prompts, and he doesn’t like the way her tone is headed—as if she already knows. A parent’s intuition, perhaps. “That tells me this isn’t just a casual crush.”

Peter laughs, and it comes out slightly lilted, him saying, “You’re starting to sound like Ned. Look, I just...yeah, I really like MJ. Obviously. She’s awesome and kind of...funny in a dark way, you know? But right now, we’re just—we’re friends. Good friends, I think.”

“I’ve seen the box in your room, Peter.” And May’s tone is tender, gentle, meaning she must know. His stomach swoops—maybe in guilt, maybe in potential excitement. “I know that you have a plan. Selling your collectibles for something special? You want to see where this can go, and you should.”

“I don’t know,” he admits, wiping his hands with the towel. His gaze doesn’t match with hers. “I don’t know if I can, that is. So many of those collectibles came from...they came from him. Selling them feels…”

May tilts her head, a sad smile on her face as she says, “Wrong?”

Peter nods, looking down, saying, “Exactly. They don’t really hold sentimental value, but he still gave them to me. And they don’t make half of these figures anymore. If I sell them, I don’t want to regret it the next day.”

“I think...Ben gave you those figures so you could do whatever you wanted with them, Peter. And if what you want is to sell them so you can buy the girl you really like something nice,” she murmurs. “He would want you to do just that.”

“MJ does deserve something nice,” he mumbles, repeating her sentiment, casting a look over his shoulder. She’s still sitting in the living room, her eyes on the television but her fingers are tapping to an invisible beat, a habit.

“Then be the one to give it to her, Pete.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, you’re right. I’m going to do it.” Peter blows out a breath and cracks a small, reassured smile, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. He’s warred with himself over that topic a while now, but now he knows his answer. “Um. What do you think she would like?”

“Well, I can’t tell you that, Peter,” May says, rolling her eyes lightly. She swats him with a towel and gestures towards the living room. “Go ask her yourself. I’ll finish up here.”

“Are you sure—”

“ _Go_ ,” she insists with a chuckle. “Get the girl and try not to lose her while you’re at it. She’s a really good one.”

“I know,” he exhales, smiling. “Thank you so much, May.”

After getting waved away by his aunt, Peter heads over to Michelle. Her gaze tracks his movements before she finally makes room for him on the couch next to her. He feels his heart speed up while taking the seat, as it always does around her, a second nature.

“Hey, there, Parker.”

“Hey, yourself,” Peter replies, bumping her shoulder lightly, and she smirks slightly in amusement. “What are we watching?”

“The Black Dahlia,” Michelle says, shrugging, but her eyes shine with fondness. “One of my favorite book-to-movie adaptations. It’s based on this true crime story of a woman who was a young Hollywood actress and, well. Got murdered.”

“Oh,” he says with a slow nod, and maybe he would be more surprised if he didn’t know her any better. But he does know her.

Michelle awkwardly smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear that won’t quite stay put. She shakes her head and reaches for the remote, saying “Sorry. We can change it—”

“No,” Peter quickly blurts, placing a hand over hers, and she freezes. A bold move that he just pulled out of his ass to keep her from switching the channel, he thinks. “I just…”

“You’re interested?” she asks, eyebrows raising.

Peter merely grins, settling back into the couch, their shoulders, knees, hands touching. He feels warm all over as he says, “Yeah. Tell me more.”

  
  


* * *

  


**_three days after_ **

“Michelle,” May greets with a barely-there smile, just enough for it to be cordial. She steps aside, allowing her into the apartment, and they stand together in the quiet room with their black attire. “Today’s the day, huh.”

_Today’s the day._

Michelle merely nods with a smile that’s small and empty, her fingers tracing the chain of the necklace that is only a temporary placeholder for him, resting near her heart. It’s not perfect, but she tried her best.

“Yeah. It is.” She doesn’t want to think about how she’d spent the entirety of last night wrapped in one of his t-shirts, remembering him as she fell asleep. As if she could ever forget.

So much for out of sight, out of mind.

May shakes her head, and there’s a tremble to her hands as she gathers some dishes in the kitchen, cleaning and drying. “Is there anything I can get you before we go? I have water. Tea. Coffee.”

“No. No, I’m good,” Michelle responds, closing her eyes. They sting. “I know we don’t have to be there for a while. Can we not go just yet?”

“Of course, sweetie,” May says, and her expression is frail. Like a vase of flowers just waiting to tip over, to crack and spill. “I understand. This is...hard. We’ll get there together.”

Michelle swallows thickly, hearing her heart beating in her ears. She wishes it could tell her what to do now when every bone in her body is reminding her how much easier it would be to run. Instead, she asks, “How are you doing? I know we’re in the same boat, but I just…”

May smiles sadly, turning away from the dishes to look at her as she says, “I’ve had better days. I, uh, I don’t know. I keep thinking…”

“Yeah?” Michelle prompts gently.

“I should’ve done better,” May finally manages, and her words stun Michelle to the point where she can’t speak. “I should’ve done more. Not just now, but his whole life, I should’ve…”

“You did everything for him, May. Everything that you could. He was so lucky to have you.” The lump in her throat is persisting, but Michelle fights back. “You were his family.”

“No, you don’t—you don’t understand. I let him down. I—” May cuts herself off, her voice breaking. “I failed, Michelle. As a parent, I failed...because when your child dies before you do, have you really done…”

_When your child dies before you do, have you really done anything right?_

Michelle can feel her breath hitch, her stomach drop, and she wants to say something to combat that. Anything. But words aren’t coming to her in the form of comfort, as they tend not to. 

Instead, she shakes her head, stepping forward to pull May into her arms, and lets her break down. They both need a release, and it’s easier when you have someone else to help hold you up.

Even though it’s just the two of them in the quiet apartment, would only be the two of them from now on, Michelle can only imagine that they’re not alone. That his presence is there too, watching over them. Bringing them together once again, just as he had so many years ago.

Michelle knows what he would say if he were here.

_You did everything right, May. Believe me._

_It’s not your fault._

  
  


* * *

  


**_eight and a half years until_ **

Peter clambers back inside his bedroom window after a round of patrol, feeling refreshed and beaten at the same time. He’d forgotten how much Spider-Man takes out of him, having just gotten back into the swing of things a few months ago, but it feels just as—if not _more_ —rewarding after having had his break.

As soon as he takes his mask off, the first thing his gaze falls on is the rolled-up paper in the corner of his closet, barely hidden by his hanging t-shirts.

The poster. _His_ poster, an undeserving gift from her.

Peter makes his way to the closet, pulling the paper out and unrolling it, revealing the shades and colors of her art. An untamable smile spreads across his face when he looks at this, always.

It hurts, knowing he can’t display it, but Peter often finds himself returning to this piece and the memories that come with it when he needs a pick-me-up.

The day Michelle had finally given it to him when he’d finally come back as Spider-Man is one he can’t forget.

It wasn’t a grand gesture, nor was it even eventful. He had just been sitting on the stoop of a building, spending time overthinking as he does, and she’d walked past.

Her backpack was stuffed full, half-open, and she had earbuds in, presumably headed to FEAST, but then she stopped. Backed up a little, their gazes meeting, and an earnest smile had broken across her face.

They didn’t really talk much, Peter forgetting to modify his voice, but she told him she was glad to see him around. Glad to see that he was alive. She always carried the poster with her—a just-in-case kind of thing—and handed it over without a word. Her expression was enough.

Michelle had walked away quickly after that, left him on the step, but it felt as if a piece of her was still in his hands. They both knew how much the poster meant.

And maybe it was suspicious, dropping by her apartment window that evening to thank her personally, but Peter frankly didn’t care. She didn’t know who he was behind the mask, didn’t know if she would even see him, and yet, she still made that for him. Even when he wasn’t around.

Maybe he can’t give her anything meaningful as Spider-Man.

But as Peter, he will try to give her everything he can. She deserves just as much, starting with this necklace.

The black dahlia is her favorite flower, he’s learned, because they’ve watched the movie together.

His pockets are empty now, having sold his valuable collectibles for cash, only to spend it all on a piece of hand-blown glass jewelry, but he doesn’t regret it.

Peter just doesn’t know how to give it to her.

“I thought you had a plan, dude,” Ned tells him later that afternoon when they’re both hanging out in his bedroom. “Like, I don’t know. Ask her out on a date. You’ve literally been hanging in limbo for months.”

“It’s not limbo. We’re friends, and I don’t want to ruin anything,” he responds with a sigh, feeling his heart churn at the statement. “I just can’t ask her out if she doesn’t feel the same way.”

Ned gives him a look, one almost identical to the _‘you are impossible’_ one, and says, “Um. You’re never going to know how she feels if you don’t ask her out.”

“Okay. Yeah, fine, I want to take her on a date, Ned. I want to bring her to this art show in Central Park, and I want to take her to the top of the Empire State Building to give her this necklace and maybe even a kiss,” Peter says all in one breath. “But I can’t just do that.”

“Because Spider-Man’s a chicken.”

Peter blinks at his best friend before huffing, “ _Dude_.”

“Kidding, obviously,” Ned assures with a laugh. “Look, baby steps, right? Go to the art show with her as friends. Bring the necklace, and if you get the chance, just give it to her. She’ll love it no matter what.”

“You think?” Peter asks, breaking into a small smile. He hopes.

“I do. It’s you and MJ.”

  
  


* * *

  


“I think you made the nose too big.”

“Peter,” Michelle warns, giving him an unimpressed look, and he merely offers a small smile in return, shaking his head. “The one time I actually let you watch me, you have something to say other than _it’s perfect_?”

“It is perfect. As is everything else you make. You know I’m kidding,” he tells Michelle softly, and she breathes out a half-chuckle in return but there’s a bout of frustration in her expression. “MJ. You good?”

Michelle doesn’t do anything except shrug in response, but her pencil presses harder down onto the paper, lines drawn darker and darker. It all builds up to her tearing a hole in the page, right before the lead breaks.

“For god’s sake,” she mutters, tearing the page out as a whole and crumpling it up, ready to toss.

They’ve been sitting on the floor of FEAST for hours now, having volunteered in the kitchen together earlier in the day, and Michelle had told him she wanted to sketch a bit. He couldn’t say no to her offer to stay and watch.

Peter knows how long it took her to fill the page she’d been working on, and now she’s just going to throw it away. It doesn’t make sense to him, so he stops her. Asks her what’s going on.

“No, hey. That’s good, why are you crumpling it up?” He pulls the paper from her hand, unfolding it. A genre drawing of the shelter.

“I just…I don’t know. I’ve been in an art slump for the past few days, I swear, and everything I’ve tried doing looks like...well. Shit,” Michelle offers with a shrug, pushing a curl out of her eyes. She seems sad about it.

“MJ, please. Nothing you make could ever look like shit,” Peter says, spewing his typical love language towards her, words of affirmation. 

Michelle rolls her eyes but smiles a bit, knocking his shoulder as she says, “I’ve just been lacking motivation is all.”

“So, what you’re saying is you need inspiration?” he asks tentatively, knowing that this could be his chance, an easy opening.

“I’m not drawing you like one of my French girls, Peter—”

“No, no, that’s not—” Peter cuts himself off, feeling his face heat up, the flush knowing no bounds. “I, um. I was actually going to suggest...there’s an art show going on in Central Park. It’s a short drive, easy inspiration. We could go together...if you want.”

Michelle smiles slightly, meeting his eyes as her own seem more amused than anything. “ _We_ could?”

“Or just...you could. If this is more of something you need to do alone,” he spews out, wincing, practically uninviting himself. “Whatever you want. I don’t really care either way.”

“When is it?”

Peter thins his smile, trying to act as if he hadn’t researched the entirety of the exhibition just for her. “This whole week, I’m pretty sure? You could go on Friday.”

“Or we could go tomorrow,” Michelle suggests with an earnest look, and it’s annoying, the way relief washes over him at the fact that she would like him to come. “Only if you want to, obviously.”

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow’s good,” Peter says, and they both smile at the fact. His cheeks hurt a bit. “It’s a date, then. I mean—a friendly outing...sort of date.”

Michelle’s expression falters slightly and she just nods, saying, “I’ll pick you up?”

“Deal.” He looks down for a moment before meeting her eyes again, imagining how they would see him if he were to just let his secret slip, let his feelings slip. If he were to just tell her everything. “Tomorrow then.”

  
  


* * *

  


“You think you’ve made enough of a mess of your room yet?” May comments in amusement, taking one look around at how there are clothes scattered all over the floor. His closet is practically barren.

Peter exhales a laugh, pushing a hand through his hair as he stares at the loose hangers, and asks, “Is this what it feels like to have nothing to wear? I swear I’ve gone through anything.”

May clicks her tongue and shakes her head, giving him an empathetic smile as she says, “You’re nervous for this, aren’t you?”

“Nervous?” Peter repeats, sounding high-strung and more stressed than he would’ve liked. “No, what makes you think I’m nervous?”

“You’re going on a date with the girl you really like, and you’re nervous. It’s perfectly normal, Pete, but this mess isn’t—”

“It’s not a date! I just—we’re just friends going on a...friendly outing together. So, like, please don’t refer to it as a date. Especially not in front of her,” he blurts, wincing slightly as May’s eyes narrow. “But...yeah. I’m kind of nervous.”

“Remember that this is MJ. Chill, dark-humored, dry MJ,” May reminds him, placing her hands on his shoulders in reassurance. 

“Exactly. It’s MJ.” Peter glances at the necklace that's sitting on his nightstand before looking back at May. “Yeah, um. Send me all the good luck you can, May. I’m gonna need it.”

“Good luck, Peter. And, as always, be careful out there. Crime rates have been steadily increasing recently from what I’ve seen and heard on the news.”

“Of course,” he assures her, and she smiles at him before closing the door to his room, leaving Peter with his mess. He turns around in circles for a bit before sighing, making his decision.

What better to ruin the mood with than to wear his suit underneath his clothes, right?

Just as Peter finally manages to settle on a simple button-up and jeans, there’s a knock on the apartment door. He’s practically still jumping into his pants by the time he makes it over to open it, revealing her backside.

But when Michelle turns around, he thinks he forgets how to breathe for a second. There’s nothing spectacularly different about her, but she always manages to stun him upon first sight. A superpower of hers, perhaps.

“Hey,” she greets with a small smile, eyes shining with amusement.

“Hi,” Peter responds, swallowing thickly, taking in her floral dress and the denim jacket draped over it. His brain keeps short-circuiting, enough for him to blurt out exactly what’s on his mind. It’s her, always her. “You...you look really pretty.”

“And therefore I have value?”

“No—no, that’s not what I meant at all,” he stammers, already in a panic and wondering if it’s too late to back out. She merely squints at him before breaking into a teasing expression.

“I know. I was just messing with you. Thank you.” Michelle hesitates and then smiles, a slight thing. “You look pretty, too.”

“Oh.” He can feel his cheeks heating up and it’s impossible to fight the blush, to fight the grin creeping onto his face. “Thank you.”

Peter tentatively pauses a moment, feeling the weight of the necklace in his pocket. He wonders when the best time would be to give it to her. Not now, not when their evening has barely started. Later, maybe. 

Michelle peeks past him, just to wave hello at May, who’s currently sorting laundry in the background, before asking, “Are you ready to go?”

“I am.” Peter quickly ducks his head back into the apartment to yell a ‘ _goodbye’_ at his aunt, who yells back with a ‘ _have fun you two’_. He sure hopes they will.

  
  


* * *

  


“Have you ever been to an art exhibition before?”

“This is my first one,” Peter says, absently tugging at his sleeves. In the back of his mind, he hopes that they’re sufficiently concealing his web-shooters that have never really been conspicuous. “Can you tell?”

Michelle barely masks a laugh, nodding as they walk around to look at each of the artist’s displays, and he has to admit, there is some really impressive work. He can’t imagine painting a wilting landscape that ranges from six feet wide to ten feet tall, or building a literal staircase of junk that seemingly leads nowhere.

There’s so much to take away from everyone’s art, and he thinks this really is the perfect place for Michelle to find some inspiration.

“There’s a theme to everyone’s work here,” Michelle tells him, linking her own fingers together as they accidentally brush with his. It stings, knowing she pulled away so quickly, but he pushes that out of his mind because this isn’t about him. “You know what it is?”

“I think you’re gonna have to spell it out for me,” he responds, chuckling quietly.

“It’s reflective of change. Impermanence. Attempting to understand the things we love and their role in space and time,” she explains.

“Woah. How’d you get all of that from...a staircase? And some paintings?” he asks, gaping slightly, and she taps her temple.

“Intuition, of course. And, well…” Michelle gestures behind him at the large welcoming banner that’s hanging between some street lights. “It says right there.”

“Oh, my god.” An unprecedented laugh bursts out of him, and Michelle’s face lights up, delighted. “You’ve always been more observant than I have.”

“I don’t know, Peter,” she murmurs, the two of them finding an empty bench to sit on. “I’d say you’re pretty observant. And intuitive. You knew I would want to come to an art exhibition. You know...a lot more things about me than most people do.”

Peter reddens slightly and looks away, his laughter nervous as he says, “Way to make me sound like a creep or something.”

“No. No, it’s...okay,” she says, quiet, her smile small as she lets her eyes flutter shut for a moment. “That you know me, that is.”

“Oh,” he breathes, the warmth blooming in his heart spreading quickly. “The feeling is mutual, MJ.”

Michelle’s eyes crack open, her expression just a bit wry as she says, “Do I really know you, though, Peter?” 

And she’s right. The fact of the matter is, he hasn’t told Michelle everything. Hasn’t even shared the biggest secret of his life with her. 

Peter knows that he wants to tell her, but the problem has always been that he doesn’t know if he should. To keep her safe would be to keep her in the dark, and he wants her safe more than anything.

With a sigh, he closes his eyes and tries to let it go in that moment, because right now, it’s simply him and her sitting on a bench. That’s all he wants it to be.

Some time passes with them just relaxing together, knees brushing and elbows touching, before Peter hears the sound of a camera clicking, bringing his gaze back to her. She has her face hidden behind her phone.

“Did you just take a picture of me?” Peter asks as he sits up, laughing a little, and she merely quirks her lips.

“I don’t know, Peter. Did I?” Michelle teases, looking down at her phone before meeting his eyes again. “You brought me to the art show so I could get some inspiration, and...I have. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter responds, swallowing thickly as they do nothing but stare at each other in that moment. It only takes a second for his mind to make a spontaneous decision. “MJ, there...there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Um, for a while now, actually. I, uh…”

Peter hesitates, his hand finding its way into his pocket, clamping around the box that contains her flower. He’s going to give it to her here and now, going to tell her how he feels.

And maybe she’ll even feel the same way.

“Peter,” Michelle utters, but she’s not looking at him. Her tone is barely audible, and he wonders if it’s meant to be a warning to stop.

“MJ, I’m…” He trails off, trying to get a read on her expression, but then the next voice he hears isn’t hers. It sounds as if it’s coming from behind them and that’s when something crashes dangerously close to the art exhibition, sending shards of glass everywhere.

Peter immediately pulls Michelle to the ground, shielding her head and most of her body with his, all while trying to find out who threw the projectile. It’s not a difficult feat, his eyes quickly falling on a man in what looks to be a mechanized rhino costume.

People have been getting creative these days, it seems.

“Spider-Man,” Michelle manages to say above the screams, lifting her head up slightly, and he can feel his heart skip a beat—can hear _hers_ pounding erratically. Not a good thing. “You were going to say that you’re Spider-Man, weren’t you?”

“What? No, I—I’m not Spider-Man,” he stammers stupidly. “What makes you think that I’m Spider-Man?”

“Peter,” she deadpans, looking around. “You better hope to god that you’re Spider-Man. There’s a guy over there who seems to be having a joyride in a fucking rhino suit.”

“Shit,” Peter mutters, watching as the man lifts a car above his head with a manic look on his face. That’s _really_ not good. “Okay, I, uh—I am Spider-Man. I know you probably have a lot of questions, and honestly so do I, but—”

“You have to go.”

“I have to go. Uh.” Peter quickly ducks behind the stairway to nowhere and pulls his clothes off, grateful that he’d thought ahead and wore the suit underneath. 

After tugging his mask on, he almost decides to just leave everything on the ground right there but then sees the abandoned jewelry box on the ground. His heart pangs briefly, and he sweeps up all his belongings. 

“Are you seriously making me hold your clothes?” Michelle hisses under her breath when he returns.

“Um. I’m sorry,” Peter says, and she squints. “I’ll be back, okay? Just, stay safe and be careful. Please.”

And when he goes to swing towards the rhino who looks to be a little more than pissed off, he still manages to catch the tail-end of Michelle’s response.

_I’m counting on you to come back to me, Peter._

  
  


* * *

  


His ribs feel broken. Just a little.

But Peter doesn’t really care as he stands above the Rhino, who’s currently unconscious and webbed up after the tussle the two of them had down 5th Avenue. They’ve left quite the path of destruction behind them, but he’s pretty sure there were no severe injuries amongst any civilians. No casualties. 

“Ah, you guys got a handle on this now, right?” Peter wheezes, gripping his ribs lightly as he looks at the police now surrounding them. “Alright, cool. Cool. I’ll take your silence as a _yes_ , so if you don’t mind...I have a date to get back to.”

Peter shoots a web out, withholding a grunt as he swings, his entire body feeling strained.

Though, when he makes it back to Central Park, the art exhibition is in shambles, even more so than when he’d originally left. It’s also barren. If they were in the Wild West, he’s sure he’d see a tumbleweed blow by.

Panic stirs in his gut after calling out for Michelle once then twice, expecting to see her appear from out of nowhere. He doesn’t know what happened here, doesn’t know if she and everyone else got away safely or if something else went down.

Peter is so confused that he almost doesn’t react in time, but he hears the footsteps before he sees the shadow. Quickly moving away, he swings up and realizes that the one behind him is a familiar face.

“Nice to see you again, Spider-Man.”

“How did you get out of jail?” Peter asks, swallowing as the electricity sparks dangerously close off Shocker’s gauntlet.

“Jail is pretty easy to get out of when you know people on the inside,” he responds, shooting out a jolt and hitting Peter in the chest. It feels like his entire body is on fire as he falls. “My partner was supposed to take you down. Guess he didn’t do a good job.”

“Rhinos aren’t really known to be reliable,” he coughs, feeling his Spidey sense go off as Shocker’s fist comes down near his head, barely missing. “You know, you guys are really taking the fun out of my day.”

“And you’re really adding the fun to mine, Spider.”

Peter manages to dodge the second blow, grimacing under the mask as he says, “Well. I try to spice up everyone’s life one way or another. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Hard to do that when you’re the one making conversation with _me_ ,” Peter responds, and he’s about to just web him up. End it there and hopefully not get electrocuted again in the process.

But before he even gets the chance, Shocker lets out a pained grunt, eyes rolling back as he collapses to the ground in an unconscious heap.

“Think I hit him hard enough?” Michelle asks from behind in a dry voice, holding what looks to be a mace in her hands. She seems shaken but not enough to drop the weapon, clutching it with white knuckles. 

“MJ,” Peter exhales in relief, trying to sit up without jostling his ribs, but she comes down to him instead. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her, closing his eyes. “MJ. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I was able to get everyone out of here before he started destroying the whole exhibition, but I didn’t leave because I knew you were coming back,” she explains softly, and he holds her closer. “Are _you_ okay?”

“I’ve seen better days,” he jokes with a groan, and she snorts. “Where’d you get the mace?”

Michelle’s eyes shine and she gestures around them, saying, “Oh. I stole it from someone’s art project. Homemade and kind of misshapen but still got the job done.”

Peter manages a pained laugh before webbing Shocker up, setting up a signal for the cops to find him. “We probably shouldn’t stay here like this out in the open. Wouldn’t want you to get caught with Spider-Man.”

“Okay,” she agrees, chewing her lower lip. “Then you’re coming to my place.”

“I am?”

Michelle raises an eyebrow, already helping him up, draping one of his arms around her neck. “Unless you’d rather go to yours where May can see what I’m sure are some very injured ribs?”

“Your place it is,” Peter concedes with a small smile that she can’t see, and they make their way to her car. 

The drive is mostly quiet, giving him time to think about how much of a disaster their evening was. All he wanted was to have a nice time with her, and the universe couldn’t even give him that. 

When they make it to her apartment, it’s empty, just as he’d expected. She flicks on the light to her bedroom, revealing a familiar mess of art supplies and books scattered everywhere.

Peter finds himself sinking to the floor next to her nightstand, head hitting the wall after he tears his mask off. He’s alone until he isn’t, Michelle coming into the room with a first aid kit and his pile of clothes.

Their eyes finally meet when she kneels in front of him, and he can see the concern in them more clearly. His heart pangs, Peter wanting to tell her that he’s okay, that nothing hurts.

But he doesn’t want to lie to her after having done so much of that in the past.

“Can you…?” Michelle trails off, gesturing to his suit, which he loosens around him. She takes a bit of cream and ice, applying it around the bruising on his ribs, all while he tries not to blush too hard. “Sorry if I’m hurting you.”

“You’re not,” Peter assures her softly before taking a risk, folding his hand around hers as she takes care of his injuries. She lets him. “You really knew I was Spider-Man, huh?”

“Of course I did,” she snorts, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’ve known for a while now. You wonder why I asked for your opinion on that poster?”

Peter splutters, but in reality, he isn’t surprised. It’s Michelle. Of course she knew. “Yeah, I still can’t believe you made that for me. I...I really love it, MJ. You have no idea.”

“I thought you deserved something nice, Peter.” And Michelle finally looks up from her work, matching his expression.

“Michelle,” he says, voice cracking slightly with emotion, the thought of her necklace not so distant from his mind. She’s the one who deserves something nice. Deserves everything. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I thought I was keeping you safe, but you can clearly...do that yourself.”

Michelle merely shrugs, the curve of her lips a secretive thing. “I’ll forgive you in one to two business days, Parker.”

“Ha, ha,” Peter deadpans, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. He wonders if they can finish their conversation from earlier, hopes it’ll end differently this time. “Hey, can you hand me my clothes?”

When she does just that, Peter rummages through the pockets, only to find all of them empty. In a panic, he checks and double checks them, but to no avail.

“Are you looking for this?” Michelle pulls something out of her own pocket, only to reveal the glass dahlia in multiple pieces, petals broken off and cracked. His heart sinks as he shakes his head. This is not how it was meant to be.

“No, no, no,” he whispers, cupping her hands. “God, I’m so sorry, MJ. I had this plan, this whole plan. I was going to give you this necklace on our date, and...I don’t know. Maybe I...wanted to tell you how I feel too, but it’s all been ruined—”

Peter suddenly finds himself cut off by her soft lips pressing against his, and he doesn’t know how to react, unable to even close his eyes. Not until she pulls away with the most hesitant smile, and he finds himself wanting her to do it again.

“Thanks for finally calling it a date,” she jokes, and he laughs shakily. “I, um. I don’t have the best luck getting close to people. But you’re one of the exceptions, and...I don’t know. I like that.”

“That...that’s great,” Peter exhales with an unsurmounted amount of emotion piling in his heart. He still can’t believe she kissed him, the echo of her lips against his lingering.

Michelle ducks her head, tucking an errant curl behind her ear as she says, “Black dahlia...like the murder. You enjoyed the movie?”

“I enjoyed watching it with you.” He looks down at the shattered necklace in her hands, knowing he wanted better for her. “I’m sorry it’s broken, MJ.”

“It’s okay. I kind of like it better broken,” Michelle tells him with a small smile on her face, and he knows the pounding in his chest has nothing to do with the pain anymore.

Peter wonders if his gaze is as affectionate as it feels, if she can tell how deep this goes for him, finally admitting to her, “I really like you.”

“I really like you, too,” she says, an earnest, honest thing.

Peter leans in first this time, tentative as he grips her hand, brushing his lips against hers. He closes his eyes, committing this to memory in every sense of the way. It’s not something he ever wants to forget.

When Michelle pulls back after the brief kiss, she gives him this open look, one that softens his heart from the inside-out. He adores it. Adores her. 

Without hesitation, they both lean in again, the clumsiness and fumbling gone with the first two kisses, leaving them with nothing but peace. And that’s how it feels to kiss her.

Peaceful.

Peter isn’t sure how long they sit on the floor of her bedroom, but it’s just them the whole time, wrapped up within each other. That’s all he needs it to be.

But he knows he can’t stay forever. Certainly not overnight.

“I don’t want May to worry,” Peter explains, wrapping his suit around him once more, the bruising already starting to fade. She nods in understanding, and he drops a kiss to her forehead. Doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this, but he’ll do it until he does.

Her window opens to the fire escape, and he’s half in, half out when she brushes her lips against his cheek, leaving a trail of warmth before pulling his mask the rest of the way down.

“Be careful,” Michelle tells him, and he breaks into a smile that she cannot see.

“I will,” he promises, his feet clanging on the fire escape. 

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Peter murmurs, knowing the emotion in his stomach will settle at getting to see her again like this. “I’ll see you, MJ.”

And when he jumps off the fire escape, he leaves with the feeling of Michelle surrounding him like something familiar, knowing he can’t wait to see her again.

  
  


* * *

  


**_three days after_ **

The funeral home is quiet.

So quiet that Michelle would assume no one had come if it weren’t for the faces that had turned when she and May stepped inside. But of course, that would’ve been an unrealistic assumption anyway, knowing how loved he was by so many. 

Michelle can’t bring herself to meet anyone’s gazes yet, despite the fact that they’re all familiar. They’re all family at this point, the funeral a private one reserved for only those who knew him best.

May squeezes her arm, the two of them support beams for each other as they had come together. She has the courage to look around at everyone, at the casket, whereas Michelle does not.

“Do you remember...taking that picture of him?” May manages to ask, her voice watery, gently coaxing Michelle’s eyes up. Her gaze travels past Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, past Ned and his family, past the few friends of theirs that they’d kept in touch with through the years.

Michelle swallows thickly upon seeing the photo that they let someone else choose, neither of them wanting the pain that came with the responsibility. She knows exactly when it was from. Her heart aches, remembering how young they were just a few years ago, remembering the day as if it had just happened.

She thought they’d come so far but after seeing the picture again now, Michelle can’t help but feel like they’re back right where they’d started.

At least, they would be right where they had started if he were still here.

“Yeah. It was on our...first date, if you can even call it that.” Michelle laughs quietly, and it’s brittle, breakable. She feels as if she’s going to shatter. “He just looked so...happy. Carefree. I remember, in that moment, I wanted to draw him.”

“And did you?”

“Not then. But I did later. So much,” she admits with a shake of her head. “I don’t even think he knew half the time, but he was always the perfect subject. Always smiled for me.”

“You’ll have to show me them sometime,” May responds, something akin to encouragement in her voice. Soft and subdued. “Either way. I think the photo they’ve chosen goes well with the other piece.”

Michelle looks to the opposite side of the casket, and her eyes sting as she blinks at the second portrait. The one she’d taken out from under their bed, the one she’d made by hand just to show her appreciation to him.

The one of Spider-Man that was starting to fade, colors not so vibrant anymore, and in a way, it feels fitting. 

Fading away but not completely disappearing, just as he never will.

“I think so, too,” Michelle says, wiping the wetness from her cheek with a brush of her thumb. 

“Are you ready...to see him?” May asks, and she manages a smile that thinly masks the sadness and weariness in her expression. “We can wait a while if you’d like. Take as much time as you need.”

Michelle shakes her head, fingers absently tracing the glass flower around her neck as she says, “I can’t wait forever.”

They approach the casket together, Michelle squeezing May’s fingers so tight that her knuckles whiten. And in the moment that she finally sees him, she wishes more than anything that she could take the air she can’t seem to hold and give it to him. Just to see him breathe again.

Peter is laid out in a suit, his hands clasped together on his chest, and he looks so peaceful. She does hope with her whole heart that he is at peace now.

Michelle ducks her head for a moment, letting a tear run down her cheek and it splashes onto his skin. Tenderly, she reaches out, his hands cold underneath her own as she brushes it away.

Maybe it would’ve been better if she had written down everything she’d wanted to say, everything she can’t remember now, but she knows that planning for a goodbye is an impossible thing. Saying a goodbye is even harder.

“There’s so much I didn’t get to say to you,” she begins quietly, biting her cheek to keep her tears inside. “But I’m glad I got to tell you how much I love you every day. Even though we ended up here, I don’t regret spending these past years with you, Peter. I never will.”

Carefully, Michelle unclasps the chain from around her neck and places the flower in his hands. It’s not perfect, but it’s not broken, anymore. It’s whole.

Michelle can feel another tear streaming down her cheek as she leans forward, placing one last kiss against his temple. She finds that her words are dying on her lips, but if he were still here, she knows he would tell her that _it’s okay_. Even if she can’t say it out loud.

_I will always love you._

_I will never forget you._

_I’ll see you in the next life, Peter Parker._

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr and twitter @coykoii


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